


forever (in my heart)

by RaeDMagdon



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Cuddles, F/F, Fingering, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Messy Bottom Lexa, Oral, Vanilla, a lil bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-12 01:11:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11726406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeDMagdon/pseuds/RaeDMagdon
Summary: Usually, she is the one keeping other people safe. She is a guiding vessel, respected and obeyed by all, but essentially worthless aside from what she carries within her. Her body means nothing, and neither does her life.





	forever (in my heart)

**Author's Note:**

> For all y'all who were pleading for Messy Bottom Lexa, here she is.
> 
> The prompt was: "Idk if you're still accepting but could you please do some clexa aftercare? I'm always hoping for it with your fics but sadly it doesn't seem to happen much. If you don't want to dedicate a whole prompt to it could you maybe add it onto one of the other smutcation prompts please?"
> 
> Follow me @raedmagdon on tumblr if you want!

Having Clarke between her legs is like nothing else in the world. It’s warm, safe, secure—three emotions Lexa has met as strangers only recently, but now live deep within her bones. Usually, she is the one keeping other people safe. She is a guiding vessel, respected and obeyed by all, but essentially worthless aside from what she carries within her. Her body means nothing, and neither does her life.

But Clarke doesn’t think of her body that way. The kisses Clarke scatters up along both her thighs are prayers—not to her or the Flame or some otherworldly spirit, but each one a gift of thanks. Despite everything, the universe has brought them together, and Lexa knows Clarke is just as grateful as she is.

She whimpers as Clarke’s mouth nears the join of her legs, but her lover isn’t finished showing her gratitude. Clarke’s kisses continue around her hipbones, up along her stomach, setting alight the sensitive patch of skin beside her navel. Lexa looks down, and all her breath abandons her. Clarke’s gaze isn’t just loving, but worshipful. She loves Lexa’s body the way no one else does, and cherishes her soul even more deeply.

But Clarke’s gaze isn’t only worshipful. It’s also possessive, and the slow burning fire in her blue eyes sends a shudder down Lexa’s spine.  _“Klark,”_ she says, a plea more than anything, but even spreading her legs doesn’t coax Clarke to return where her need is greatest. Instead, Clarke continues up, pulling Lexa’s nipple into her mouth.

The silken swirls of Clarke’s tongue send sparks through Lexa’s skin. Her blood is fire and even her breath burns. She has no idea how something so soft can send such hard, hot lances of desire through her belly—or perhaps she does. Clarke has spent many hours drawing such reactions from her. She has studied closely, and Lexa is helpless against her lovingly-gathered knowledge.

She grasps Clarke’s hair, but only for something to hold. Despite her need and the growing ache in her core, she allows Clarke to lavish attention on her breasts as long as she wishes. Clarke switches from one to the other, then back again, sometimes kissing, sometimes sucking, and occasionally scraping with her teeth.

That causes Lexa to cry out. She is used to barking orders, giving clipped commands, but this is different. This voice, this song of surrender she makes, is for Clarke and Clarke alone.

Clarke approves. She continues up to the crook of Lexa’s throat, fingers tracing reverent paths along her stomach. “I want you to come apart,” Clarke rasps, right where Lexa’s pulse lives. “I want to make you mine.”

“I am,” Lexa says, without any hesitation at all.

But Clarke wants her body to say it rather than her mouth, because after leaving the softest of kisses on Lexa’s lips, she continues down, retracing the trails she had already forged. Her tongue swipes flat in some places, flicking in others, until Lexa is shaking and soaked in sweat. Clarke isn’t always a tease, but when she is, it’s unbearable. Lexa’s grip tightens slightly in Clarke’s hair, but her attempts to push down are averted. Clarke looks up with a small smirk and shakes her head. “Not yet. Soon.”

Soon is most definitely not soon, at least by Lexa’s standards. Clarke spends what feels like hours on her stomach, and when she finally moves lower, it’s not to slide beneath Lexa’s knees. Instead, Clarke kisses up and down both of her legs three separate times until Lexa is convinced days have passed them by.

 _“Klark,”_  she begs again, hoping her need will convince her lover to take mercy.  _“Beja…”_

Clarke places one last kiss on Lexa’s inner thigh, which is already coated in clear streams of slick.  _“Sha, niron.”_

Even as Clarke’s thumbs draw together between Lexa’s legs, they don’t search for sensitive places. They pull apart Lexa’s outer lips, holding her open to the air. It’s cold, but a rush of heat compensates. Lexa inhales. Clarke has laid her bare in more intimate ways than this. Putting trust in her is second nature.

Lexa spreads her legs wider, digging her heels into the bedfurs as Clarke’s thumbs make small circles. They barely move at first, but as the circles widen, Lexa begins to shiver and clench. She aches for Clarke to fill her. More warmth spills from deep within her, sliding over the tips of Clarke’s fingers.

“So wet,” Clarke whispers. Lexa can hear the awe in her voice, see it in her eyes.

She tries to answer, “For you,” but the words come out as a whimper because Clarke has chosen that moment to find her clit. She passes back and forth along the shaft, rubbing it between the ‘v’ of her fingers, and it’s all Lexa can do to keep her hips from bucking.

Clarke is still watching her, taking in everything through an artist’s eyes—painting a picture on the canvas of her memory, Lexa knows. Then Clarke’s tongue passes over her entrance, and all Lexa knows is bliss. She waits, quivering, but Clarke doesn’t push inside. The strokes are light, probing, and painfully slow, just like Clarke’s fingers.

“Tell me you love me,” Clarke mutters. Though the words are muffled, Lexa would know them anywhere.

“I… I…”

She loves Clarke endlessly, and has no problem saying so in private, but Clarke’s tongue continues teasing, and Clarke’s fingers have finally reached her tip. It’s almost too much. It surely would be, if Clarke wasn’t gazing up at her with such happiness. She’s proud of herself, Lexa knows, proud of melting her into a puddle of sighs and trembling limbs.

Clarke’s tongue withdraws for a painful moment. “Tell me you love me,” she says again, and Lexa is transfixed by the gleam of her pink lips as they move.

At last, she finds her voice.  _“Ai hod yu in, Klark.[ Feva ona ai tombom.](http://trigedasleng.info/translations/2016-0307-2/)”_

Clarke’s face glows, but Lexa only has a moment to enjoy the sight before it dips back between her thighs. This time Clarke’s warm lips wrap around her, and Clarke’s fingers find her opening. There is no resistance as they slide in, first with one finger, then two, and finally three. Clarke doesn’t usually fill her so much, but Lexa welcomes the stretch. There isn’t any pain, only relief.

At first, Clarke’s thrusts are slow, careful, pressing into Lexa’s front wall without pushing too hard. Lexa whines at the thought that Clarke still isn’t finished with her, that their lovemaking will go on forever—but she isn’t sure whether the broken noise is because she wants it to last, or because she longs for a release she knows won’t be granted until Clarke is satisfied.

But after a while, Clarke’s movements finally speed up, settling into something like a rhythm. There is force behind the strokes, but they are steady and deliberate. All the while Clarke’s tongue feathers on her clit, and Clarke’s gaze reaches up past her belly and breasts to lock their eyes.

Lexa doesn’t realize she’s pleading until she feels Clarke’s moan of approval vibrate against her. Only then does she hear the words she’s saying, a stream of I love yous and pleases and mores, all followed by Klark. Clarke’s name is sweeter than any wine and flows from her far more freely. She speaks it like an oath, hoping Clarke will understand: no one else has ever valued her, valued Lexa before, and she will value Clarke just the same, until she reaches the other shore.

It seems Clarke does understand. Her fingers slide in and stay there, hooking upward, and her mouth unlatches for a few heartbeats. “Come for me, Lexa.”

Lexa does, the moment Clarke’s tongue resumes painting her clit. She shakes, arching and sobbing until she she’s sure she’ll shudder apart completely. But she doesn’t, because Clarke is holding her, one hand on her hip and the other still moving inside her. ‘It’s okay,’ Clarke says with her eyes, in a language Lexa can easily understand. ‘It’s safe to let go like this.’

Letting go lasts a while, since Clarke has spent so long building her up. She’s exhausted long before Clarke draws the end of the flood from within her, and entirely limp by the time the last of her ripples fade. Her heart is filled to the brim, but it also feels like a bruise, almost too tender to touch.

Clarke withdraws her mouth and stills her fingers, giving Lexa time to return to Earth. Slowly, Lexa calms down, becoming aware of other sensations: the dampness of the sheets, her hair sticking to her cheek, Clarke’s breath on her belly. Her eyes begin watering, and she doesn’t quite know why.

“Come here,” Clarke murmurs, removing her hand and crawling up along Lexa’s body. She kisses Lexa’s mouth, slow and gentle, and Lexa parts her lips, welcoming the warmth of Clarke’s tongue. The taste is one she will never tire of, not for a thousand years or a thousand thousand. Neither of them say anything more, but there is no need. They can reach each other through the silence.

Lexa is not surprised when Clarke slides out of her embrace after a few minutes and heads for the adjoining bathroom. She doesn’t have the strength to sit up yet, so she waits until Clarke returns, a damp cloth in hand. Clarke wipes her face first, stroking her hot forehead, and then both her cheeks where her tears have run dry. Once that’s finished, Clarke returns between her legs, cleaning her inner thighs and sensitive lips. Lexa draws in a breath, but Clarke is as gentle as possible, and it’s soon over.

“Lift,” Clarke says, urging Lexa to rise off the blankets. She does so with a sigh, and Clarke removes the top layer, tossing it aside and pulling up a fresh fur blanket from the foot of the bed. She wraps them both within, sealing them in a cocoon of warmth and comfort.

As much as Lexa adores making love, she sometimes needs this even more: the small signs that Clarke cares for her. It’s such a simple thing, stroking someone’s face, wrapping them in a blanket, but she has spent most years of her life without so much as a friendly touch. Having a lover to hold her, kiss her, rub her shuddering back and whisper in her hair sometimes feels too wonderful for words.

 _“Mochof,”_  she sighs into Clarke’s neck, losing the battle to keep her eyes open.

“For what?” Clarke asks, lips skimming her temple. She adjusts the blankets, making sure they cover all of Lexa’s shoulders.

“For everything. For being you.”

Lexa feels Clarke’s mouth pull into a smile against her skin. “You’re the special one.”

Special. She has been told that Heda is special her entire life, but no one but Clarke has ever called Lexa special. It wraps her in another layer of contentment, and as she drifts off to sleep, listening to the sound of Clarke’s breathing, she knows: if no one else ever tells her that she’s special, or beautiful, or worthy, it won’t matter, because she believes Clarke with everything she is.

**Author's Note:**

> The Trig just means,
> 
> Beja = please  
> Sha, niron = Yes, love  
> Ai hod yu in, Klark. Feva ona ai tombom = I love you, Clarke. Forever in my heart.


End file.
